


Pick Up Queue Ficlets -- Non Sterek

by eeyore9990



Series: Pick Up Queue Ficlets [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Warnings for each chapter will be in the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets I wrote while waiting to pick my son up from school.  These ARE Teen Wolf but are NOT Sterek.</p><p>Chapt 1 & 2 -- Pack Genfic<br/>Chapt 3& 4 -- Steter<br/>Chapt 5 -- Braeden/Derek/Stiles poly<br/>Chapt 6 -- Allison/Kira<br/>Chapt 7 -- Steter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

Stiles twitched, fingers restless against his leg, his mouth compressing in an attempt to keep it closed as Scott, Deucalion, Theo, and Gerard – and sure, Chris and Liam, the Yukimuras, his dad and Melissa _also_ stood around the table in Derek’s loft. Because they were still using it, even with Derek MIA.

The only two missing at this point to round out the “let’s invite all the most horrible people to our confab” were Kate and Peter … and they were both still alive, to the best of Stiles’ knowledge.

Goddamn, this pack sucked at taking care of threats.

When the next idiot statement came out of Gerard’s mouth, Stiles made a low, disgusted sound and stepped forward, slapping his hands on the table. “Oh my _god,_ this is the worst plan since Derek was Alpha.”

That effectively shut everyone up for two seconds. Just long enough for a relaxing breath before Deucalion started patronizing him at the same time his own goddamn father said his name in a low mutter.

“They’ve been around for a few decades longer than they should have, right?” Stiles asked, voice hard and cutting. “The Dread Doctors? And La Bete is a few centuries old? Well guess fucking what? I remember the last _millennium._ ” Looking up, he speared Mrs Yukimura with a glare. “Why the _hell_ are you letting these goddamn youngsters run shit? You’ve gotta have at least as much knowledge as I do, and you’re at least able to make _sense_ of your memories.”

Shoving away from the table, he crammed his hands in his pockets with a sneer. “Hey, maybe if we could all stop trying to measure our dicks against each other, we could get somewhere. I don’t know about you, Scott, but I’d way rather hear what Kira’s mom has to say. Since, you know, she’s been surviving this shit for 900 years.”

Mrs Yukimura stepped forward, a tiny smile on her face. “Thank you, Stiles. And…” She looked into his eyes, a weight and sadness in her gaze. “If I had known, I would have helped you. I had no idea you _remembered._ ”

Stiles swallowed hard, looking down to the katana in its hilt at her side. “I… It’s not that bad when I’m awake.”

“It’s too much to even process in dreams,” Noshiko murmured, making him nod and dart a quick look up into her eyes. “When we are done here, come to me. You will sleep again. I promise.”

Stiles blinked hard, coughing to dispel the tears that tried to clog his throat. He didn’t have time for the relief that wanted to blaze through him, but when this was over…

He watched her walk forward and give short, concise instructions for dealing with the “upstart beast.”

Yeah, if anyone could help him, she could. He had to hold onto that thought.


	2. Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie AU, warnings for gore?

“What the _fuck_ are you doing, you absolute _idiot?_ ” Stiles snarled at Derek as he swung his bat, putting his hips into it.

Not that he really _had_ to; the skull caved in too easily, making a decidedly squishier sound than Stiles was entirely comfortable with.

“Ripping out their throats isn’t going to do anything but get you bitten. You have to–” Stiles cut himself off with a sick-sounding _hurk_ when Derek turned to him, eyebrows raised and the Shambler’s head danging from his fingers. “Yeah, okay,” he finally allowed, nodding as he looked anywhere else. “I guess that works too.”

“No, you’re right, Stiles.” Lydia narrowed her eyes at Derek, dragging the end of her nine iron through the grass to clean the decaying matter off it. “Getting that close is a risk you can’t afford.”

“We still don’t know that their sickness can infect us,” Scott pointed out, wiping sweat from his brow as he twirled his modified crosse. 

“And which of us do you want putting you down – which of us should have to _kill you_ ,” Argent amended when Derek’s nostrils flared, “if it does? No more stupid chances. You have a hockey stick, Hale. Use it.”

Derek rolled his eyes but picked his stick up anyway, inspecting the sharpened end of it. It could be used almost like a scythe if the idiot would just _practice_ with it instead of trying to show off with his claws.

Although, really, it was funny in a macabre way. Each of them with some piece of sporting equipment – barring his dad, the remaining deputies, and Argent, of course – that they’d barely had time to touch in the horror-filled years leading up to the Shambler Infection.

Stiles hated the name. Call a spade a spade; they were fucking zombies. But in the early days, the world governments hadn’t wanted to stir up alarm by admitting the truth everyone already knew, so… So now they were Shamblers.

And maybe the Beacon Hills crew was lucky. After fighting Kanimas and Alpha packs and Dread Doctors, slow-moving, mindless zombies were easy. If only there weren’t so many of them.

If only so many of them didn’t stare at him in their finally moments with too-familiar eyes set in faces wasted by rot.

Shrugging that thought off, Stiles side-stepped another Shambler and swung. The world – his pack – didn’t have the luxury of sentiment. All they could do was this: give the Shamblers rest.


	3. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Phone sex, Dirty talking, masturbation
> 
> Based on the prompt: 

The phone rang in his hand even as Stiles read that last message. Swiping to accept the call, he tucked it to his ear while shoving his shorts down under his balls, taking his hardening cock in hand. 

“Both, huh?” he asked, trying hard to sound bored, or at least unaffected. 

“It occurred to me,” Peter’s smooth voice sent shivers down Stiles’ spine, the dark promise in it _delicious_ , “that if I were to use my mouth on you, I could use the fingers of my free hand to–” 

“Jesus, Peter, you can’t just–” Stiles breath huffed out on a whine as words failed him. He’d gone from half hard to thrusting ragged and desperate into his fist in just a handful of words. 

“Unless of course,” Peter continued, ignoring Stiles’ complaint, “you were on your hands and knees on the sofa. Then you could suck me while I play with your hair and finger you. The logistical problem, in either case, would be the actual watching of the movie.” 

“Wha- what are you talking about? What movie?” Stiles stopped jerking off long enough to spit in his hand – friction, ugh. 

“Oh. You were envisioning this moment happening in a theater? Mmm, you kinky little devil. Yes, all right.” There was the sound of typing in the background, then Peter said, “The new Captain America should give you plenty of hyper-sexualized fodder for–” 

“Fuck you,” Stiles gasped, toes beginning to curl. “We could watch fucking… Alvin and the Chipmunks and I’d still get off.” 

“Hmm. CGI’d rodents do it for you?” 

“Asshole,” Stiles choked out, a little laugh underscoring the words. “ _You_ do it for me. As you already know. Stop fishing for compliments.” 

“Mmm, just for that…” Peter’s voice dropped a little, a sound that Stiles associated with nothing but sex. “Perhaps, instead of my fingers, I’ll use my tongue. Right there in the middle of the theater. Push it right up inside of you and lick every trace of myself out of you. After, of course, I fill you up during the previews. …Stiles? Dear boy? Ahh, the regrettable stamina of the young.” 

Stiles would tell Peter to go fuck himself, but…well, he was too busy proving Peter right.


	4. Teasing (Steter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steter ficlet for a lovely anon.
> 
> Warning for touching through clothes and sexual teasing?

Peter paced around the loft, picking things up and setting them down again, just a hair off center. It would drive his nephew to distraction, not just the fact that his things had been _moved_ but that Peter had been touching them.

And speaking of touching… 

Peter shifted sideways, just enough for the light cutting in fron the window to highlight his profile. The scent of _interest_ grew thicker. Putting a bit of saunter into his stride, Peter prowled a tighter circuit around the room, letting his hands linger, letting his fingers caress here and there as the scent deepened into something like arousal.

“What is it you’re researching tonight, Stiles?” he asked as his path around the room put him directly behind the boy. He watched, amused, as Stiles startled – badly – the pen he’d been fellating arching high as he accidentally launched it across the room. 

“I, uh… Jesus, dude, you fucking creep much or–?” Stiles’ rambling cut off as Peter boxed him in, one hand braced on the back of his chair as he planted the other on the table near the laptop.

“Oh, I see,” Peter murmured, low and rumbling as he took the opportunity to draw a deeper breath of the boy and all his helpless lust from so close. He allowed his eyelids to flutter down, his mouth opening on the last of the deep inhale, _tasting_ that young, ripe flavor.

“W-what?”

Opening his eyes again, Peter smiled, turning his head so his lips brushed Stiles’ ear, listening for the little hitch in his breathing as he whispered, “Vampires aren’t real.”

“Y-yeah,” Stiles moaned, then sat up with a start, shimmying his entire body like he was trying to shake off the effects of having Peter so close.

From the smell of things – and from the way the front of his jeans were bulging more than noticeably – the poor boy was fighting a losing battle with himself.

“I mean, um, yeah. Derek… Derek said, but something is draining people of blood and–”

Peter reached out, his biceps squeezing against the breadth of Stiles’ shoulders as he typed ‘wendigo’ into the search box. “There,” he said, letting his chin scrape over the sensitive ridge of bone behind Stiles’ ear. “That should help.”

A low popping sound made him look down, smiling to himself in delight at seeing the way Stiles’ fingers were biting so hard into the table’s edge that the knuckles were bone-white.

Drawing his hand slowly back from the keyboard, he paused halfway and pressed it to Stiles’ chest, feeling the way his heart raced even as the sound of it pounded so loud in his ears. He rubbed for a moment at the cloth just over a peaked, pebbling nipple and then _plucked,_ enjoying the musky scent of precome that underscored Stiles’ quiet moan.

“Sorry,” he whispered again, not sorry at all. “You had a bit of something there.” He raised his fingers and opened them, brushing a bit of fuzz he’d picked up on his journey throughout the room from their tips.

“Fuck,” Stiles huffed, dropping his head back on Peter’s shoulder.

“Hmm, is that a request?”

Stiles let his head loll forward again, baring the back of his neck to Peter’s avid gaze. “Either stop teasing me,” he mumbled, petulant, “or–”

“But I enjoy getting a _rise_ out of you,” Peter said, letting his teeth scrape along the bared expanse of neck as he dropped his hand to Stiles’ lap, palming him through the rough denim of his jeans.

“What is wrong with me?” Stiles whined, obviously a rhetorical question, but one Peter couldn’t let pass without comment.

“Absolutely _nothing_.”


	5. Good Boys (Stiles/Braeden/Derek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polyship for Inell.
> 
> Warnings for: nsfw, pegging, threesome, Domme Braeden

Braeden tightened the straps with a quick, showy tug, relishing the way it made her boys both shiver. 

Derek was in the arm chair where she’d left him, slowly running his fingers up and down his straining length but not trying to get himself off. He knew better than that.

Her new fuck toy was keening softly beneath her on the bed, his sweaty hands slipping and sliding as he struggled to hold his knees at the right angle, splayed wide and tempting as his pink dick twitched against his stomach, his slick, gaping hole shining like a beacon.

Braeden picked up the lube, spread it across her palm and then stroked her own cock where it jutted from her groin, purple and veiny and condom-covered for easy cleanup. Grinding her hips forward as she pulled her hand back, Braeden rocked against the nubs that lined up perfectly with her clit, then braced her hand on Stiles splotchy-flushed chest.

She didn’t bother to ask him if he was ready – the precome dripping onto his stomach was enough evidence of that – but she did hesitate after butting the head of her cock up against his pretty pink hole. Waited a heartbeat, then another, watching his wide, expressive mouth. Just in case.

When all he said was, “Please,” she just grinned, a little evil, and pushed, splitting him open on her long, thick cock and watching the way his mouth dropped open wide.

Hell, she’d have to fuck that later.

If she were a better person, she’d let Derek fuck it now, but she didn’t want to spoil her boy too much. Let him sit there and watch. Let him play with himself until his thighs shook with the need to come.

No, he didn’t get any of this. Not this time. This was _hers._

When Stiles was taking her dick all the way, no creased forehead or flinching around the eyes to indicate discomfort, Braeden stepped up her game, rolling her hips harder and faster until the headboard hit the wall, underscoring Stiles’ _ahn-ahn-ahn_ ’s of pleasure. His eyes, so wide and pretty with their long lashes and deep color, flickered from her face to her chest and lower, helpless noises falling from his mouth as sweat beaded up on his forehead and dripped into his hair. His fingers, so long and capable – hell yes, the boy knew what to do with them; Malia wasn’t a fool, after all – spasmed around his knees every time his eyes locked on her swaying, bouncing tits.

Braeden smiled, cooing at him as she pounded into him even harder. “Aww, baby. You wanna touch? Hmm? You wanna feel them?”

“Uh- _ohhh_ … uh huh. Please,” he groaned, so soft and pretty as she swivelled her hips just a little, changing the angle enough that he arched his back, his chin tipping up to show how his neck was straining with the pleasure she was giving him.

“No,” she said, chuckling at his wounded noise. “But Derek’s been a real good boy,” she grinned down at Stiles, like they were sharing a joke as she slammed into him again, listening for the way his breath shattered. “I think he should get–” 

She heard a shifting behind her and stilled, her nostrils flaring angrily as she whipped her head around, pinning Derek with a sharp gaze. Lucky for her boy, he hadn’t really moved, just shifted a bit on the seat – probably due to the plug she’d worked into his ass earlier. Seeing that everything was as it should be, she relaxed and went back to fucking into Stiles, long, hard thrusts that set the headboard knocking again.

“Would you like to come play with my tits, Derek?” she asked, all sweetness and light.

His mouth opened, his head already nodding – and his cock jumping in his hand – before he thought about it. Then he licked his lips, shaky as he asked in that gentle, soft voice, “Do _you_ want me to?”

“Good answer, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Why don’t you come slide that nice, big, shiny cock right up inside me while you show our little pet here how I like to be touched.”

There weren’t many things Braeden was truly proud of in her life. Getting these two needy, desperate boys in her bed? Yep. 

That was definitely one of them.


	6. Collarbone Kiss (Allison/Kira)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AWeekofSaturdays.
> 
> No warnings

There was something extra soothing about training with Kira. Maybe it was the way she made Allison laugh while they were going through drills. Maybe it the way she fell into a sort of quiet headspace whenever she warmed up with her katana. 

Kira was so clumsy and adorable in her day to day life that it always made Allison catch her breath to see the focus and concentration that smoothed out her features as she moved, fluid and graceful, from one pose to the next. The strength in Kira’s arms that Allison felt anytime she was wrapped in them was so apparent at times like this as she lifted the katana high over her head and brought it down, her feet moving in a precise rhythm that her arms followed. 

It was beautiful. 

It was also why they rarely finished a training session without Allison interrupting at some point just to put her mouth on whatever part of Kira she could get to first. 

Yeah. It was a problem. Hopefully Allison would be able to hold it together better if they had to face real danger together because _wow_ it would be horrible to die just because she couldn’t keep her mouth to herself. 

Today when she moved in too close, catching Kira’s attention and distracting her in the middle of an upswing, it was the bead of sweat gathered at the hollow of her collarbone that drew Allison in, made her open her mouth, tongue licking the salty flavor up before she even realized she’d dropped her bow. 

The katana clattered to the ground behind Kira, her nearly reprimanding tone as she said Allison’s name just making Allison shiver and press closer. 

“I could have hurt you,” Kira sighed, even as she tilted her chin to give Allison better access to her throat. That was Allison’s usual target, after all – ironic, really. 

But today Allison just wanted this, to scrape her teeth over that fine, fragile-looking ridge of bone, lave it with her tongue, suck kisses along it until she’d left her mark on Kira’s skin as surely as Kira had left her mark on Allison’s heart.


	7. Upside Down Spiderman Kisses (Steter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For DizzilySpiralling.
> 
> No warnings.

Stiles crept along the hallway, keeping extra quiet as he reached up and tried the door handle on the room where the hunters were keeping Peter.  It was locked, of course, because these hunters weren’t as stupid as most.  Dammit.

Sighing, Stiles slid his lockpick tools from his pocket and set to work.  In under a minute, the door handle was turning smoothly in his hand.  Stiles took a deep breath to steady himself and, staying low, eased the door open a crack.  When no gunshots rang out immediately, and no shouts came from the room inside, Stiles pushed a little more, then peeked around the door at the empty room.

Well, sort of empty.  Hanging upside down from the ceiling like a trussed up bat was a writhing, angry-looking Peter Hale.  

Scrambling into the room on all fours, Stiles gently and quietly shut the door behind him, turning the lock and shoving a chair – as silently as possible – against the door for extra security before he turned to Peter and crossed his arms over his chest, letting the shit eating grin he’d been holding in since he saw the man spread across his face.  

“Well, well, well,” Stiles whispered, truly enjoying himself.  “How the turntables.”  


“Really, Stiles?” Peter hissed, swinging a bit wildly from the chains holding the ropes binding him as he wriggled.  “Do you _really_  think this is the time for The Office quotes?”  


“See, boo, this is why I risk life and limb to come find your sketchy ass.  Because you’re the only person in the pack who even knows that reference, much less the show that started it.”  Stiles made kissy faces at Peter before stepping forward to figure out how to get him out of the mess of ropes and knots holding him.  


But as he was looking up at an upside down Peter and trying to figure out if he should grab that lone chair away from the door to assist him in cutting Peter down, Stiles’ brain took that moment to notice their relative positions – plus, you know, his name was _Peter_ , and how perfect was that?!  

Stiles licked lips gone suddenly dry and knew Peter could hear the way his heart had just double-thumped _hard_  inside his chest.

“What?” Peter muttered, eyes flicking toward the door.  “I don’t hear anyone coming.  Why are you–?”  


Stiles stopped the rest of Peter’s question with his mouth, sucking the words right off Peter’s tongue as he indulged himself in the moment.  It wasn’t like he’d probably ever get a similar opportunity again, after all, and since Peter was tied up and unable to rip his face off… well.

Stiles wasn’t exactly the poster child for well thought through plans, okay?  He was impulsive and reckless and leapt without thought to the consequences.  But honestly, for being the most stupid idea he’d indulged in probably in his life, it wasn’t… bad.  It was actually quite _good_.

Once Peter figured out what was going on – not that it took longer than a second – he got into the spirit of things in a big way, opening his mouth and sucking Stiles’ bottom lip into it, scraping his teeth along it and just, generally, doing things no one had ever done to Stiles before with a simple kiss.  

“Stiles,” Peter finally murmured when they broke the kiss, Stiles’ ragged breathing interspersed with some telling noises.  “While I’d love to hang around all day having you molest me with your superhero complex, I’d much rather do it in the privacy and,” he wriggled pointedly, setting himself swaying again, “safety of my own home.”  


Stiles swallowed hard, backing away quickly and fumbling for the utility knife tucked away in his sock.  “Yeah, umm, sorry.”

“Don’t be, dear boy.  If I’d known you liked this sort of role play, I’d have indulged you long ago.  But again, time is of the essence and we’re in the lair of the enemy, so.  Chop chop.”  


Rolling his eyes, Stiles sawed away at the rope until Peter dropped to the floor, landing headfirst.  “Oops, _sorry,_ ”Stiles whispered, very clearly not sorry at all.   _Chop chop_ , his ass.

“Just for that,” Peter growled, blinking harshly against what had to be some pretty intense pain even with his healing factor, “I won’t take you to my Batcave.”  


“Dude, if you have anything,” Stiles muttered, slicing apart the ropes binding Peter’s hands so he could use his claws to held get his legs free, “it’s a supervillian lair.”  


“You’re the one casting me as Spiderman in your little fantasy scenario.”  


“I mean, really,” Stiles said, helping Peter to his feet when the ropes were finally undone, “if you’re _anyone_ , I’m thinking you’re Deadpool.  Which still makes the upside down thing feasible.”  


Peter paused at the door, turning back to Stiles with a smirk.  “Did I ever tell you how hard I ship Spideypool?”

“Yeah well,” Stiles whispered, leaning forward for a hard, quick peck that seemed to catch Peter off-guard if the way his eyelids fluttered for a second was any indication.  “If we get out of here in one piece, I’ll let you tell me all about it.”  


“Over dinner?”  


“Your treat,” Stiles murmured, grinning when Peter shot him a look.  “It’s only fair considering I saved your ass.”  


Peter grabbed Stiles’ hand and yanked, pulling him through the doorway at a dead run.  “Mary Jane never had to put up with this sort of nonsense.”  


“Eh.  Who cares about Mary Jane?  I always preferred Wade Wilson.”  Stiles cackled as he heard the sounds of fighting in the far distance.  Too far away for any of the hunters to stop them now.

The day was looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And also, because I'm stupidly proud of this fest, I'm going to take this opportunity to remind everyone that author/artist signups are ongoing at Teen Wolf Glompfest: http://tw-glompfest.tumblr.com . If you are NOT an author/artist in TW Fandom, prompt submissions will open on March 19th! Stay tuned. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


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